


All Fall Down

by SwanSongremix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt Dean Winchester, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 23:49:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20665847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwanSongremix/pseuds/SwanSongremix
Summary: An easy salt and burn turns bloody. John tries to cope with the consequences.





	All Fall Down

Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

The hunt had gone south faster than any of them were prepared for. It was supposed to be an easy salt and burn. Sweep the dingy house for whatever the spirit of Daniel Berthem may have been tethered to, and destroy it. John had taken to the second floor, while Sam and Dean searched the first. After hours of research, they found that old Daniel had been a writer and kept a journal full of half formed ideas. Upon seeing an old wooden desk underneath the windowsill, John had a hunch that he would find what he was looking for inside of it. One moment, John was slowly sweeping the desk for EMF, and the next, Dean was shouting for John to turn around. In the time it took John to obey, the spirit had thrown John into the nearest wall, his head hitting with a sickening crack.

Dizzy, and a little nauseous, John tried to straighten himself up, reaching for his discarded weapon. After groping uselessly, he spotted his shotgun near the desk. If he could get his vision to stop swimming, he might be able to get to it. As it were, he merely took in the scene before him.

His youngest had appeared at the top of the stairs with an iron fire poker he must have grabbed from the living room and was swinging it wildly at the specter. Behind him, Dean cocked his gun and blasted the nasty spirit full of rock salt. Sam turned to Dean and heaved a sigh of relief when the ghost vanished. The relief didn't last long.

"Sam! Move!" Dean shoved his brother out of the way before Sam could respond.

“No!” John shouted, blind terror sending him scrambling towards his oldest. He and Sam watched helplessly as the spirit launched a tall metal filing cabinet at Dean, sending him and the heavy object over the banister and hurtling toward the main floor. Dean’s wide green eyes and breathless shout as he went plummeting over the rail would haunt John’s dreams for months to come.

"Sam! The desk, it's in the desk," John called. “Hurry!”

Sam rushed to the desk scrambling until he found it. An old journal with bloody fingerprints. John didn’t wait to watch if Sam burned it or not, he was already rushing down the stairs towards Dean. The filing cabinet had busted the old wood floor and created a hole in the subfloor. It lay across Dean’s right hip, crushing his pelvis and leg. Blood was pooling where it appeared the cabinet edge had pierced Dean’s side. 

John had not felt fear this acutely since that night, years ago, when he watched Mary burn on the ceiling. His stomach rolled as he went around to Dean’s neck, hand shaking as he desperately searched for a pulse. It was there, faint and thready. Dean’s breathing was shallow and he looked smaller than his sixteen years. John couldn’t help but see his brave little soldier, all of four years old, the one who carried his little brother out of a burning house. Couldn’t help but see Mary’s precious baby, lying still in his own blood. _Oh, God. Oh, Dean._

“Dad,” Sam approached cautiously. He looked pale in the dim lighting. His eyes scanning Dean, processing the damage. “The ghost, I got him. He’s gone. Dean...Is-is he okay?”

John looked up at his youngest. At Sam’s gasp, John realized he had tears streaming down his cheeks. He hastily swiped at them and said in a rough voice, “I need you to grab the med kit out of the trunk. Please, Sam, quickly.” He tossed the keys to Sam and watched his youngest scramble out the door without a word. 

John looked back down at Dean. The guilt was beginning to set in. John had seen Dean injured on a hunt before, but this was different. This wasn’t a dislocated shoulder or a jagged cut. There’s no telling what kind of internal damage Dean has suffered. No way to tell whether or not this will be something he can walk away from. The thought left John breathless. He couldn’t loose Dean. The beating heart of their little family. Dean was his son, his partner, his rock. He was always there with a witty joke, a reassuring smile, and boundless love that he constantly showered on he and Sam. However undeserving John felt to receive such love and loyalty, he was always grateful for it, and couldn’t imagine life without Dean’s smiling green eyes and warm laughter to ease the aches this shitty life has doled out to them. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t brought the boys on this hunt. If he hadn’t drove to this town. If he hadn’t chosen this life, Dean would be fine right now.

A weak groan came from the body below him. Unfocused green eyes flitted around the room as Dean let out a small whimper. “D’d?” Dean sounded so small. Like a scared child. “D’d wh’s S’m?” Dean speaking, however slow and slurred, was a good sign.

“He’s gone to grab the med kit, he’ll be right back. You’re a little banged up, bud, but don’t worry. You’re gonna be just fine, I promise,” John said, forcing a smile. Hoping he could convey how grateful he was to see Dean awake.

“Did we get ‘im?” Dean’s eyes started wandering the room, as if the ghost might pop back up and finish them off.

“Sam got him. You were right, it was the journal.”

“A’some.”

John’s hand began to lightly pet Dean’s hair, watching Dean’s eyes flutter shut. “No, no, no. Don’t check out just yet. Try to stay awake, son.” 

Just then, Sam burst through the door, med kit in hand. He fell to his knees beside his father and began pulling gauze out of the bag. John got up and circled around to the end of the cabinet, a plan forming to get it off of Dean without causing too much pain. He heard Sam speaking low to his brother. Whispers of _It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine. Dad’s gonna get you out of here. _

“Okay, Sam. I’m gonna lift this off him, you need to put pressure on him immediately. Understood? Try to keep him awake, too,” John said with as much authority as he could. “The faster we get through this, the faster we can take him to the hospital.”

“No, no h’sp’tal, ‘m fine,” Dean slurred.

“Are you insane?” Sam asked, incredulously.

“‘Spensive,” Dean said bluntly. “‘M fine. Promise.”

“Dean,” John breathed. Was he hearing this correctly? Did Dean really believe John would be fine risking his life over money? They weren’t exactly rolling in it, but John knew how to pull a good insurance scam. Always had money left over for emergencies. And he could think of no bigger emergency than his son bleeding to death underneath a rusted metal cabinet after having fallen from twenty feet. “You’re going to the hospital. That’s final. Alright, Sam, on three. One. Two. Three!”

The high keening sound that Dean emitted almost made John wish he had left the cabinet where it was. Sam rushed to staunch the flow of blood without putting too much pressure on Dean’s abdomen. There was no telling what organs could have been damaged in the fall. All John knew was that they had to work quickly to get Dean into the hands of professionals. As Sam managed the gauze, John came around Dean’s other side and slowly kneeled down.

“Guess I won’ make it b’ck ‘n time to c’tch the game,” Dean joked. John let out a strangled chuckle. Leave it to Dean to be cracking jokes while lying in his own blood. “Ah, Dad, c’mon. Light’n up a lil.”

“I’ll lighten up when you’re all patched up. Now, get ready, kid, ‘cause we still gotta haul your ass outta here,” John sniffled. “Sam, help me get him up.”

It took a bit of maneuvering, but John managed to pick Dean up bridal style. He may only be sixteen, but, given how much work he puts into his training, Dean was built with solid muscle. Luckily, the car wasn’t too far from the front door. But John would have carried Dean’s weight for a hundred miles if it meant saving his boy’s life. 

Sam rushed ahead and opened the door to the backseat, while John struggled down the porch steps of the godforsaken house. Slowly, they got Dean lowered into the backseat with Sam supporting his head in his lap, while John put the keys in the ignition and pulled onto the main road. They were about thirty minutes from the nearest hospital, but, if John floored it, and they avoided any cops, John could make it in fifteen. The sooner he could get there, the better.

“Stay awake just a little bit longer, Dean. You can rest when we get you fixed up, just hold out a bit more. Sam, keep him lucid.”

The ride continued with both boys speaking quietly about anything and everything. The longer they drove the harder John and Sam had to work to keep Dean talking. His consciousness was fading fast. Shock and blood loss causing his mind to wander and his eyes to droop until he couldn’t hold them open any longer. Eventually, he let out a soft sigh, and his muscles went lax in his brother’s hold.

“No, no, no, c’mon Dean wake up. Dean! Dean, please. Dad?!”

“It’s okay, Sam. It’s okay, we’re almost there.” It was anything but okay, but John had to keep it together for his youngest. He could let the fear and sorrow wash over him later. Right now, he still had to be the dad.

John swung the car into the hospital’s emergency lane. Without taking out the keys, John rushed through the doors to alert the nurses. Within minutes, Dean was placed on a gurney and whisked off to surgery, leaving John and Sam behind with their worry.

_____

The surgery had taken hours. The doctors told John that the procedure had been flawless, but had taken a lot out of Dean. He was now set up in the ICU, covered in wires and tubes, looking so much smaller than John was used to. His skin was waxy and his lips were dry. Shallow breathing and the steady beeping of the monitors were the only indication that the body in the bed was still alive.This was not his Dean. His Dean was never so still. Always moving, never idle for too long. His Dean always filled the room with raucous laughter, a shit eating grin gracing his features. His Dean had a big mouth, a big personality, and a big heart. All of that was now sucked away into a void of unconsciousness, leaving John to play sentinel for the empty husk, until his Dean returned.

Sam was currently asleep on one of the stiff armchairs on the other side of the bed, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

He thought about everything he could have done differently to protect his sons. He thought about Dean recovering, things he could do to make it easier on the boy. Worse yet, he thought about what might have happened had Dean not survived. His mind kept circling down that dark path. What if he had broken his neck in the fall. What if the cabinet had crushed his lungs. The concept of Dean no longer riding shotgun, or ruffling his brother’s hair, or obnoxiously singing along to Metallica at an ungodly hour of the morning was enough to shake John to his core. 

He had been in the marines and seen the horrors of war. He had watched his wife burn to death on the ceiling. He’s fought ghouls, shifters, and wendigos. He had seen other hunters die in the field. But none of that compared to the idea of losing either of his boys. His babies. The very souls he swore he would protect from the moment he learned of their existence. He had watched them grow from wriggling little bundles in Mary’s arms to the young men they were now. He had watched them take their first steps, heard them speak their first words. Life didn’t always go smoothly for a single dad dragging his children across the country to fight supernatural threats to humanity, but he cherished every selfish moment he had with his boys, because, at the end of the day, they were all he had left. 

Before John could truly lose himself in his spiraling emotions, his youngest began to stir in his seat. Bleary hazel eyes scanned the room until they landed on John. “What time’s it,” Sam asked through a yawn.

“Almost four.”

Sam blinked. “He still out?”

“Yeah, he probably won’t be up for a while. The docs say the blood loss alone would be enough to keep him down for a few more hours.” 

“This is my fault. If I had been faster, I could have stopped him.” The guilt in his voice made John’s stomach roll.

“Sammy,” John breathed, “kiddo, this isn’t your fault. There’s nothing you could have done. I don’t blame you one bit, and I’m positive Dean doesn’t blame you either.” If anyone was to blame, it was John. The boys should have been doing homework, hanging out, watching TV. Being kids. They had no business being in some worn down house fighting an angry spirit. This is John’s fault for bringing them. His fault for putting his family in danger. His fault for training Dean to always watch out for Sammy.

He loves the relationship the boys have. Yes, they fight. Yes, they aren’t always on the same page. But at the end of the day, they are still each other’s best friend. They always have each other’s backs. But Dean went above and beyond what John expected of him. He wanted Dean to watch out for Sammy; as the older brother, that was his job. But Dean doesn’t just watch out for Sammy. He practically raised the kid. He became a father unlike any John could have been for Sam. Always helping him with his homework, making dinner, signing permission slips, offering guidance and encouragement. Everything John should have been doing. 

Instead, John would disappear for days or even weeks at a time. All in the name of justice for unwilling victims of supernatural enemies. He always tried to leave money and make sure his kids had what they needed, but in recent months he’s starting to think that that is not enough. He’s seen how tired Dean is when he returns from an extended hunt. How he breathes a sigh of relief every time his dad comes back. John can’t imagine what Dean goes through while he’s away. Playing father to Sammy and maid to whatever motel room they bunk in, while also trying to keep up with his school work and help his dad with research. And Sammy. Always so tightly wound. The kid’s gonna go gray before he’s thirty with how much he stresses over things like school or his dad or hunting. He’s just glad Sam has Dean to help him lighten up every now and then.

“When he wakes up he’s gonna be pissed when he finds out he’s stuck here for at least a week,” Sam sighed.

“Think the f’ck n’t,” they heard from the bed.

Sam and John both shot to their feet and hovered around Dean. “Dean,” John breathed.

“Are you alright,” asked Sam.

“F’ck’n peachy,” Dean snarked.

“You know what I mean, Jerk.”

“‘M fine, bitch. No way I’m dyin’ ‘cause of a f’ck’n piece of furn’ture.” John was just relieved Dean could string together coherent sentences.

“I’m gonna go grab the doc. Have him look you over,” John said as he drifted toward the door.

“Great. Maybe I can get ‘im to discharge me.” 

“Not likely.” John stopped and turned toward his sons. “And, Dean.” He added. “You did good tonight, kid. Both of you.” _I’m proud of you_, he didn’t add.

Dean’s eyes softened. “Thanks dad.”

After finding a doctor and heading back to Dean’s room, John stood in the doorway and watched the boys on the bed. They were talking, Sam trying to get Dean to laugh about something only the two of them would get. John sighed. Things could have been so much worse. But he’s grateful that Dean was alive, if not a little banged up. He’s not sure what they would do without him. He’s pretty sure Dean doesn’t realize how important he is to their little unit. John resolves from now on he’ll make more of an effort to praise Dean for all that he does and sacrifices for their family. For now, he stands guard over his boys.

  
  
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End file.
